


Blinding Light

by Puppy_Luna93



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Kid Fic, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puppy_Luna93/pseuds/Puppy_Luna93
Summary: An old orc is suddenly faced with a challenge he never thought to experience in his lifetime. Fate had other plans.Timeline set at the beginning of Cataclysm.Violence tag is in regards to battle scenes.About 10 chapters are planned.
Kudos: 1





	Blinding Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fan fiction, so don't be too harsh please.  
> Not beta read.  
> I wrote this instead of working.

Chapter 1 “Blinding light”

The sun was scorching the grunts, collecting at the entrance of Orgimmar in Aszhara. Most of them were used to it, but the Forsaken among their ranks were literally scalding off their skin or whatever was left of them. The stench reminded Gronak of long abandoned battlefields that lay in the sun for months until the fallen were overgrown by nature. He was thankful that he didn’t eat in the morning.  
After many years, of relative peace, their new warchief wanted to heat the conflict up again, and gather new territories and resources. One of their first orders was to capture Ashenvale for the Horde. As a dutiful grunt Gronak signed up for the battle, he didn’t thought much about political decisions. Older now, but still an active grunt, Gronak had his fair share in battles already. He fought against the legion in outland, the undead in icecrown, as well as countless battles in warsong and arathi basin, always as a rearguard but still. The warrior loved to fight against a worthy opponent, in a fight that lasted hours, dealing blows and the rushing adrenalin from being hit as well.  
In a particularly nasty warsong battle he was hit in the left leg by a hefty sword, followed by a flesh rotting curse. This resulted in the leg bones growing back together wrong, and not even the healers could fix it. Usually it didn’t faze him, but after a long day on his feet or on stormy nights, it hurt quite badly.

Skychaser slowly trotted behind the other wolfs, the paws on the forest floor were almost inaudible, only the Kodos in the back carrying supplies made noise. The wolf’s fur was black like tar and shined almost blue in the sunlight. At times if could look a bit ruff, but with a few strokes of a brush it got silky smooth again. Gronaks wolf was his pride, and so dear that he forbid the wolf to fight with him in battle. Running his hands through his four-legged companion’s mane, Gronak felt a little tail wag underneath the saddle.  
On Skychasers sides were saddlebags, with some provisions, in case they were not victorious and had to improvise their stay. 

The autumn was just starting to creep around the edges of this late summer. In Durotar, where the afforestation was sparse, the heat was still blazing. But here in the forest, it was cooler and the leaves were just starting to dress in their brighter colors.

Their first part of the Ashenvale capture was to ensure continuous wood supply that could only be provided by the strong, unyielding trees close to the night elves. It seemed, that all kinds of nature flourished in the general vicinity of the nightelves, flowers, trees and even animals. As if their proximity had a nourishing effect.

This part of the forest was only lightly guarded, and the vanguard snuffed out the resistance before they could call for help. The harvesters were readily waiting and the goblins spilled over the precious resource like grasshoppers over a ripe field. Juicy green grass and opulent moss spoiled with machine oil from the harvesters, lilac flowers smashed underneath the spikes made from either wood or bone to put up the orc’s tents and bugs were fleeing the brushes in myriads.  
Gronak could feel the sound and raw destruction of the harvesters in the air.

The sun was almost ready to set when they could see Astanaar in the distance. The commander stopped the battalion and turned to face them: “Be vicious and let no one get away, the warchief commanded no survivors. Blood and honor!” He had a lot of thick scars and one his tusks was splintered, he must have fought in a lot of battles. Bright orange light of the dusk got caught in some of the caves of his scars.

The Kodos stayed behind and only the ones to fight charged ahead. Gronaks blood was rushing in his ears like waves in an angry storm, he felt the adrenalin surging through his body. Ready to fight to his death against whatever enemy was to oppose him. The bloodlust made him slice through the guards which such force that Gronak actually split them in half. Their glaives clanked to the ground uselessly, tainted with the blood of their owners. It was also splattering warm across the orcs face, but except for the faint taste of iron in his mouth he didn’t even notice.  
Next to him was Raknor, not exactly his friend, but respected fighter. Gronak thought to ask him for a beer in the nearest tavern after their victory. Which he knew was inevitable, since the guards were no match to the overwhelming horde of fighters, and even their heavy artillery was ineffective against the giant, ugly but hardy monstrosities.  
As the attack was pressing on, Gronak and Raknor decided wordlessly on barging into the houses left to them. The commander said no survivors, so no one hiding would be spared. 

Throwing in the crested wooden door, he was met with an unarmed nightelf woman in a cloth dress. She was not even wearing armor, in her hand some kind of knife made for cutting fruit. The nightelfs face was a grimace of fear, holding out the knife as if it provided valuable protection from the heavily armed warrior orcs.  
Glancing over to his fellow fighter, Gronak saw how a male nightelf, as well only dressed in cloth, armed with a glass vase held like a mace, was cut down mercilessly. A scream caught in his throat before collapsing to the floor, blood gurgling from his mouth. As the orc was stepping over his remains like he was something dirty, Gronak yelled: “Raknor, these are civilians. What honor is it to kill unarmed villagers?” Raknor turned his head but continued walking, “They said to leave no survivors, so we kill everyone. Guards, Civilians, Woman, Children. It’s not as honorful as I’d like, but, orders are orders. Let’s see if they have anything valuable.”  
Apparently not bothered by the female elf still standing there. Gronak shook his head, resisting an order would not end well with their warchief, so he raised his axe, and ended her so quick she couldn’t even have felt the blade.  
Taking gold or whatever was worth something, counted as their pay as soldiers. The older warrior had no problem with that, as dead people had no need for worldly possessions anymore.

Gronak unraveled a small leather bag from his belt, and he threw some crystals in that were laying on a cupboard. Opening it he found some gold and several small tools for gardening. Stairs leading up to a second floor revealed a bedroom, with a nightstand with quite an array of necklaces, earrings and rings. Shoving all of it into the bag, he opened the dresser. But except for some combs and mirrors there was nothing in it. Gronak went to the other night stand when his eyes got caught on a crib, right next to the bed. From his position he couldn’t see what was in it, but he felt like he had been punched with a mace right in the stomach. Please, he thought, please let the crib be empty.  
Taking one step closer, it was like time stood still. Eyes so bright he had to squint, looking up at him, curious.  
An elven child, tightly wrapped into silky fabric, laid there in the crib, not knowing the one it was looking at just ended the life of its parents. He could never kill an infant, whatever its heritage or race. Unarmed civilians might be a grey area, but this?

His mind started racing, if he left it here it would start crying and be found and killed by others. Raknor was loudly rummaging around in the ground floor. Quickly Gronak did the first thing that came into his mind: he dumped out the jewelry and crystals onto the bedding and carefully unpacked the child from the crib. His hands were shaking so bad the feared he might drop the tiny elven creature or crush it with his brute, calloused fingers. Carefully placing the child in the leather bag, he took the loot he had dumped out and sprinkled it lightly over the elf, for if someone was to glance in his bag, on the first glance they would only see the stolen jewelry. 

But how, by everything that is holy, was he getting them out of there?


End file.
